


Bonding

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Death Scythe turns to lead the way down the dim corridor. 'Can’t teach you to cook in the entryway.'" Soul and Spirit attempt to bond via cooking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonding

Soul thinks about leaving while he waits for the door to the lab to open. He thinks  _really_  hard about it. This has never not sounded like a terrible idea, from the first time Stein suggested it, but he hasn’t been able to manage a good enough excuse to  _not_  come over in the last few days, and the only option left -- to ditch the thing entirely -- is so uncool that his distaste for the idea outweighs the unpleasantness of the plan in the first place.

That hasn’t changed, at least by the time the door opens, and then he and Death Scythe are staring each other down and the possibility of leaving is entirely gone.

“Soul,” the older man hisses, like the name is being dragged out of him.

Soul raises an eyebrow and slouches farther. “Death Scythe.”

The redhead cringes as if the younger scythe’s position is physically painful to him, but after a pause he steps aside. Soul waits a little too long before he steps forward and Death Scythe shuts the door behind him.

“Come on into the kitchen,” Death Scythe says, turning to lead the way down the dim corridor. “Can’t teach you to cook in the entryway.”

The aforementioned kitchen’s a lot less horrifying than Soul was expecting. It’s relatively clean, with just a few coffee cups in the sink. There’s no trace of body parts or unidentified vials of experiments; it’s all remarkably normal, for all that the walls are patterned with crisscross stitches.

“Is it you that keeps Stein in line?” he asks, leaning against the counter and eyeing the space around them. “Or is the kitchen off limits for experiments even for him?”

The older man laughs, the sound bubbling up and startling Soul with how genuine it sounds. “Yeah. I mean.” He goes into the fridge and keeps speaking from the echoing interior. “Yeah, I keep him in line. Believe me, there is nothing particularly sacred about the kitchen in his mind.”

“Oh god.” Soul’s eyes go wide as his mind offers up some possibilities for Stein left unattended in a kitchen. “I don’t think I’d ever eat here again.”

Death Scythe emerges grinning with a trio of eggs caught in his fingers. “I didn’t for a couple weeks. He’s not allowed in here without me now.”

Soul shudders dramatically. “That’s a good call. I’m surprised he actually  _listens_  to you.”

“Ah, you just have to know how to handle your meister,” Death Scythe says as he turns back to the counter. His voice is purring with suggestion that makes Soul’s eyebrows hit his hairline even as he flinches away from the mental image it presents. That also means he’s forgotten, as he frequently does, exactly  _who_  Soul’s partner is. The younger weapon crosses his arms over his chest and waits for the memory to hit.

He can see when it does. Death Scythe’s shoulders go stiff under his coat, and that’s enough of a tell even without the hiss of horrified realization that he makes. Soul’s grinning when the redhead turns around, his eyes wide with something between embarrassment and unadulterated horror, and he speaks before the other man can get his thoughts into coherent order.

“ _What_  exactly should I do to handle my meister, then?”

“Don’t!” Death Scythe blurts, chin coming down so he’s glowering through his hair at the other scythe. “Don’t you  _dare_ , don’t even  _think_  about Maka like that.”

Soul is really grinning now. “Like  _what_ , exactly? You were the one who brought it up, not me. I’m just looking for clarification.” He gasps dramatically. “Oh my  _god_ , are you...what exactly do you  _do_  with the good professor?”

“Shut up,” Death Scythe snaps, but he turns back and away to the counter so Soul considers his diversionary tactic successful. “Grab the carrots from the cupboard.”

Soul considers protesting just for the principle of the thing, but Death Scythe is still flushed redder than his hair, and he has some remnant of pity left in him for the other man. He gets the carrots, brings them over to drop onto the counter where the older weapon has a variety of containers spread out in front of him.

“Okay.” The redhead steps back from the counter, moves to toss his suit jacket over the back of a chair, and pauses to roll his sleeves up past his elbows. “Take your jacket off and wash your hands.” He turns the water on to follow his own advice and Soul trails his motions to drape his own yellow jacket over the dining table.

“What’re we making?” he asks while he scrubs his hands with the dishsoap for lack of anything more immediately available.

“Fried rice,” Death Scythe declares as Soul shakes his hands to damp instead of dripping and come over to stand at his shoulder. “You can make it a bunch of different ways, it’s more or less healthy, and it’s  _easy_  so you won’t burn my daughter’s apartment to the ground.”

Soul rolls his eyes. “‘S  _our_  apartment. I pay rent and everything.”

“You had better,” Death Scythe growls, but then he visibly reins himself in and shuffles half-a-step to the side to make unwilling space for Soul at the counter. “Okay.  _You_  will start with the carrots. Peel and chop them into bite-sized pieces. We’ll cut up all the vegetables first. And make sure you wash them before you start cutting them.”

“I know how to cut vegetables,” Soul grumbles, but he collects the carrots and takes them to the sink to do as commanded without anything other than token protest.

For a minute there’s nothing but the sound of running water in the sink and Death Scythe chopping vegetables over Soul’s shoulder. By the time the younger scythe has returned with the peeled and washed carrots, Death Scythe in the middle of his third type of addition.

“What are you working on now?” Soul asks as he reaches for a knife and lines the carrots up on a fresh cutting board in front of him.

“Garlic.” There’s no bite in the other man’s voice; when Soul glances at him sideways he appears entirely absorbed in his work, too caught up even to snap at the younger. “This should be chopped very fine, unless you like garlic a lot more than I do. The finer the pieces the less likely you are to actually bite down on one.”

“Yeah, garlic’s not my favorite thing. Maka loves it, though.”

Death Scythe smiles down at his hands. “Kami did too.”

Soul hesitates before he asks, “What about Stein? Do you have to work around him much?”

“Ah.” Death Scythe grins, sharper and less tinged with nostalgia than his reminiscent smile. “He doesn’t care what he eats. Or when. If I can get him to eat once a day it’s a win for me.”

Soul laughs. “He seems like he lives on coffee and cigarettes, yeah.”

“Mostly coffee, now,” Death Scythe offers absently. He scrapes the garlic into a pile and starts roughly chopping a handful of sprouts. “He quit smoking.”

“Oh.” Soul looks back at the carrots. If he watches Death Scythe too long he’ll realize that they are having an actual  _conversation_  and the shock might kill him. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah.” Death Scythe reaches up for a frying pan and sets it on the stove, though he keeps talking in spite of turning his back on the younger weapon. “Just decided he was gonna quit one day, and then he did.” He laughs. “Made my effort look ridiculous, I have to say.”

“You smoked?” Soul sets the carrots aside, considers the array of chopped vegetables, and comes around to stand at Death Scythe’s elbow. “Maka never said.”

“She probably doesn’t remember.” The other man isn’t looking at Soul; Soul’s not sure if he’s really not thinking about what he’s saying or just pretending to be fully focused on the pan in front of him. “I quit when she was young, back when Kami and I were still together.”

“Oh.” Soul clears his throat and gestures towards the pan. “How do we start?”

“Are you ready to get going?” Death Scythe asks. “Oil first, so you don’t burn everything to the pan before you even get going.” He drizzles a pattern over the pan and reaches for the cutting board one-handed. “Then the big vegetables. Carrots and onions, to start, since those need to cook the longest.”

Soul groans. “Are the onions required?”

“You can add whatever you want,” Death Scythe says. “But it’s better with the onions.”

“They’re gross,” Soul starts.

“You have zero taste, you little punk,” Death Scythe cuts him off. “But it’s your cooking, you can ruin it all you want as long as you don’t poison Maka. That’s the whole point, here.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your daughter can’t cook anything but fried eggs and packaged ramen,” Soul fires back as the redhead slides vegetables into the oil. “Wasn’t it your job to teach her? Or her mom’s?”

Death Scythe shudders. “No, Kami’s a terrible cook. I suspect that’s where Maka gets it from.” He glances sideways to fix Soul with a glare. “And that makes it your job as her partner to learn this.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Soul grumbles, but he’s watching Death Scythe’s hands move over the pan. It’s kind of soothing, in a weird way, how smoothly the other man shifts the pan and the spatula he’s using to shift the vegetables; it has all the elegant skill of long years of practice.

_I am never going to tell him that_ , Soul decides firmly in his own mind.

“What’s next?” he asks instead.

“Once the onions start to go clear you can add the eggs,” Death Scythe responds, scraping the carrots and onions together on one side of the pan. “I’m gonna crack the eggs into this clear side so we don’t end up coating the onions with uncooked egg.”

“I know how to cook eggs,” Soul assures the other man, and Death Scythe grins sideways at him.

“Good, then this’ll be familiar. You’re basically just scrambling them together with what’s already here; they don’t need to be cooked all the way through, but you want them to be holding together in themselves before we add the rice.”

“Got it,” Soul declares. “It smells pretty good.”

“That’ll be the onion,” Death Scythe says. “Like I said, the onion is crucial.”

“I’ll believe it when I taste it.”

“He’s right.”

The additional voice is startling. Soul jumps back from his angle leaning over the older man’s shoulder but the redhead just laughs without looking up.

“Morning, Stein.”

“It’s afternoon,” Stein observes. “Nearly evening. Have you looked at a clock all day?”

“Have  _you_?” Death Scythe asks. “It’s the spirit of the thing that counts. We’ve talked about this before.”

“We have.” Stein is leaning over the counter, gaze fixed on Death Scythe’s movements over the stove. “It’s a nice habit, though. How’s it going, Soul?”

“Pretty good,” Soul responds. It’s weird to see Stein outside of the classroom, especially with his usual lab coat absent and looking really  _domestic_ , leaning against a kitchen counter watching his boyfriend cook.

_Boyfriend_ , Soul thinks again, grinning to himself. Stein tips his head to look at him like his gaze has been summoned by the expression, and it takes Soul a moment before he can clear his smile. Stein’s mouth curves just slightly in response before he looks away, and Soul’s not sure if he’s more amused or alarmed by the interaction.

Death Scythe is oblivious to the by-play going on behind him; when Soul looks back he is dumping a container of rice over the ingredients in the pan. The sizzle dies down as the other man stirs everything together, talking through his movement. “The rice turns out better when it’s been stored in the fridge for a while so it’s cold. Ideally you make the rice a day or two in advance and then make this later.”

“Why is it better?” Soul asks.

Death Scythe shrugs one-shouldered. “Just is. I tell you what is, not why. You’d have to get Stein to answer that for you.”

“I have no idea how cooking works,” Stein puts in. He’s still leaning over the counter, but he’s watching Death Scythe instead of the pan and Soul looks away after a moment. “I recommend listening to senpai, though. He does know what he’s talking about.”

Soul shrugs in silent obedience and turns back just as Death Scythe is splashing soy sauce over the whole mess in the pan.

“We’re finishing up here,” he is saying. “Everything else can be added more or less right away.” He’s spilling corn, sprouts, chopped green onions, and the minced garlic into the pan in quick succession and without much care for how much ends up in the pan and how much ends up across the counter or spilled on the stovetop. “You can add some chili sauce, as well, if you want.” He’s drizzling a red liquid over the whole pan before returning to stirring everything together. “And bacon, if you have any made.”

“We won’t,” Soul interjects. “Bacon doesn’t last long enough to be used as an ingredient in anything.”

Death Scythe laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.” The pan is becoming an indistinguishable mass of color and vegetables and rice, but it smells amazing. “Just cook until the garlic is done, a couple of minutes.” He’s lifting the pan off the heat even as he speaks, setting it on a cool burner and reaching for a trio of plates. “You can add whatever you want and leave out anything you don’t like; just cook the tougher vegetables longer. And don’t overcook the garlic, it gets really tough if you cook it too long.”

“Yeah, Maka always chews me out for screwing that up.” Soul accepts a plate from the older weapon, and when he turns around Stein is offering a fork. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Death Scythe says, and Stein smiles and steps around the younger man to come in close behind the redhead. Soul shuffles out to the table behind them, determined to not overhear anything horrifyingly sappy if he can help it. He forgets to feel awkward after he takes a bite of the rice.

“ _Fuck_  this is amazing,” he blurts as the other two come back out of the kitchen.

“Do you kiss Maka with that mouth?” Stein asks. Soul chokes on his food and Death Scythe chokes on his inhale while Stein sits down on the other side of the table.

“ _Stein_ ,” Death Scythe manages after a moment.

“What?” the professor asks around a bite. “It’s been four  _years_ , senpai. I thought that was the whole point of today, to get you less ready to rip out Soul’s throat. He  _is_  Maka’s fiance, you’ll be better off accepting it.”

Death Scythe groans and shoots Soul a glare, but it lacks some of the bite it usually has, and Stein is grinning at the redhead so when the older weapon looks at him it startles a smile out of him.

_I could have worse in-laws_ , Soul thinks but doesn’t say. Stein glances at him, and this time Soul grins back.


End file.
